Silas cursed his hesitation. ‘Yes, yes, I’m very sure. Taking you here would be a very bad idea.’
‘Would it though?’
‘Pitch! My eyes are up here.’
The prince let out an exasperated cry. ‘But I’ve not fed for so long…and I’ve not seen your cock in an age.’
‘Stop.’ Silas moaned, and with mammoth effort, turned his back on the daemon. Now he realised just how dangerous this place was, with a half-starved incubus at his side. Pitch could be overwhelmed by this place before long. ‘Where is the palace?’ And where was the softest looking place here for a rut that would likely pound Pitch into the ground. ‘Shit. Palace. Where. See it?’
Speaking coherently seemed to have flown out the window. The bees droned on, the silent onlookers filling the air with the heady scent of honey.
‘Silas…I don’t think…I can…maybe if you just use your hand on me…that’s all…will be over in a minute.’
He turned to see Pitch undoing his trousers. Silas grabbed his wrist, dragging reaching fingers clear.
‘Palace! Do you see it, Pitch? I want you to look for it, can you do that for me?’
The prince nodded, looking miserable. ‘Palace,’ he muttered, though his arm was tight in Silas’s hold, ready to dive down again the moment he was freed.
Silas knew the pressure he felt, for he felt himself, the dragging urge to give in to the Drifting Meadow. To sate the desires they had pent up. How much easier it would be. But what an enormous mistake.
Silas shifted again, searching for sign of the palace. Flecks of pollen lifted like gleaming fireflies from the hyacinth. And the haze surrounding them grew thicker.
There was their enemy. Not an angel or a daemon king, or even a raven. Pollen. Magickal, aphrodisiac pollen.
‘Try covering your face, Pitch.’ Silas grabbed at the cloak. ‘Here, press this over your mouth and nose, don’t breathe in the pollen.’
‘My balls hurt,’ Pitch moaned, but he pressed his hand over the material, covering himself.
‘Silas followed suit with the collar of his coat. ‘Are you ready?’
Pitch looked up at him, over the edge of the blush-pink fabric. His eyes were emeralds with hearts of tiny flame. Silas bit at his bottom lip.
‘Oh gods.’ Pitch sighed, his gaze tracing Silas’s lips. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Sickle.’
‘Then don’t look at me the same way. Turn away.’
‘You turn away. Perhaps the back of your head will be less arousing.’
‘Just move on.’
‘You first.’
‘No…I want you to go first.’ So that Silas could watch him move, see the sway of his hips and the swell of his arse. Silas swallowed. ‘Argh, blast it. Let us walk side by side.’
Pitch’s breaths were quick, shallow. ‘Brilliant idea.’ When Silas reached for his hand he shook his head. ‘No touching. Not unless you want to see me come, here and now.’
Yes. Yes, you want to see that. Take him, take him.Silas’s thoughts bobbed along with the blooms.You want him.
With teeth grinding, Silas moved on, took a step through the hyacinth and tried to hold his breath as they released their vexing pollen. Visibility was narrowed down to a few feet ahead, it was like peering into the haze of an afternoon sun. The chance that they were navigating their way towards the palace was slim. But they needed to be out of the Drifting Meadow before all rationality fled.
Silas had barely taken a few steps when the sensual euphoria shifted its weight. The blindingly erotic mood slipped away, like a robe discarded.
His thoughts dulled. A gloom settled on his shoulders.
You want him, but you shan’t have him. Not truly. Yours is not a life for happiness.
Silas ran his fingertips over the heads of the hyacinth, watching his boots stomp them down as he moved. They walked on. He knew himself heavier, despite all the sparkle of the place, the pristine colours, and the glorious creature who walked beside him.
